


Blindsight

by orphan_account



Category: TF2 - Fandom, Team Fortress 2
Genre: M/M, blind, blindsight
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-20
Updated: 2013-08-09
Packaged: 2017-12-12 09:59:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/810288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spy looses his eyesight and struggles to cope, find the cause, and stay relevant in a war zone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

I've no idea where this is going or how long it will be, but it stuck in my head and wouldn't leave. If anyone's curious, blindsight is an actual syndrome. 

-

“Nothing?” Medic asked.

Spy shook his head and took a long, trembling drag on his cigarette. “Not since I respawned.”

Medic cast a significant look at Engineer, who was grim. He took a penlight and passed it over Spy’s eyes. The pupils constricted normally, but tracked no movement.

“Can’t find anything in the system,” Engineer admitted. “Nothing’s changed in his template, either.”

“There must be something.”

Spy groped for the ashtray. The silence thickened with embarrassment and Medic pushed it into the path of Spy’s hand.

“Merci,” he said and ground his cigarette out with more force than necessary. 

Engineer cleared his throat. “Fighting’s over, anyhow. I’ll go look at it again.”

“Danke.”

When they were alone, Spy inhaled shakily. “Doctor, can you—do that again?”

Medic paused. “The whole examination?”

“Non.” Spy worked his mouth for a moment. “Whatever you did just then.” 

“I shone a light in your eyes,” Medic said. “There vas no reaction.”

Spy swallowed thickly. “Just once more.”

“I don’t coddle false hopes,” Medic retorted, but picked up the penlight.

He held his breath and passed it over each eye. Again, a pupillary response. He held the light perpendicularly and moved it from one field of vision to the other. There was no movement, no focus, no sign that any sight remained.

Spy reached out and grabbed the for light. He missed, but only by a margin. His fingers brushed against the penlight’s tip.

“There,” he rasped and clutched Medic’s hand. “There.”

“Herr Spy….”

“I’m not crazy,” he said. “I—saw something.”

Medic regarded him with pity, but kept it out of his voice. “Like vhat?”

Spy opened his mouth, then closed it. “I saw something,” he repeated. “Do it again.”

Against his better judgement, Medic obliged. He held the penlight up and moved it from right to left. Spy’s eyes remained fixed as he reached out with his hand. 

Again, he missed. But only by a margin.

Medic frowned and moved the penlight down at an angle. Spy’s hand followed it like a snake after a mouse. He reached out—and caught it. 

“I knew it! It was there, moving. I knew it was moving.”

Medic stared at him. “But did you see it?”

Spy’s hand fell away. “Non,” he said after a moment. “I didn’t see anything.”


	2. Chapter 2

Blindness changed the world. Spy walked out of Medic’s office with a stiff back, but the base had taken on a new dimension. A black vastness he couldn’t predict. When Medic closed the door, he walked slowly down the hall with one hand on the wall. A quiet terror stretched before him. He saw Engineer’s failure, his team’s pity, his employer’s dissatisfaction, his lifetime--blind. 

Voices echoed from a nearby hallway. Spy froze, ears straining. Sounds ran together like wet paint, nearly indistinguishable. Dread settled in his stomach. He heard Soldier, Scout, and Demoman. They were the loudest, but there were others. 

Their voices died down. 

“The fuck is he doing?” Scout muttered. “He’s just standing there like he’s got a stick up his ass.” 

Spy continued down the hall, heart pounding. They sounded like they were at least 10 feet to his right. 

“Respawned wrong, way I hear it.” Soldier’s voice carried over his thudding pulse. “Stone blind.” 

“Jesus, man. Is that going to happen to us?” 

“Negatory. Engie said it’s just him.” 

“But--” 

“Private, do you know how respawn works?”

“No, but--” 

“Then keep your goddamn mouth shut until you do.” 

“S’not the end of the world,” Demo said, followed by the distinctive plink of fluid in an upended bottle. 

“You still got one eye,” Scout shot back. “What are we gonna do with a guy who can’t see shit?” 

“Scout talks too much.” 

“Hey, man. I’m just being honest. You really think he can do his job now?” 

No one replied. 

Spy rounded the next corner and leaned against the wall. He had hoped for a few hours respite before his team started asking those questions. Unfair, perhaps, since they would have to shoulder the burden of his blindness. 

He started walking again, hand dipping across the panel of a door. The first belonged to Sniper, who seldom used it. He skimmed his fingers across the second, Heavy’s, and the third, his own, and reached for the nameplate to be sure. It was short enough for his name. Yet when he fumbled with the doorknob and opened it, the smell was off. Sweat and burnt plastic. It felt--wrong. He heard clicking. 

“What the hell?” 

Spy gave a start. The voice was male and lilting. “Apologies,” he said and stepped back. 

“I don’t think so.” There was a flare of heat close enough to sting. “Figured you’d at least use some subtlety while snooping around.” 

Spy heard the hiss of gas and began to sweat. The flamethrower was very close to his face. “You sound--different from what I imagined.” 

Pyro gave a reedy laugh. “I sound different?”

Something passed in front of Spy’s face, but he didn’t dare reach for it. The heat intensified until it was close enough to cause pain. 

“I can’t see you,” he gasped. “I’m blind, I can’t see you.” 

There was a long pause, then the heat slowly retreated. Pyro grabbed his chin and wrenched his head at an angle. He must have been looking into Pyro’s eyes. 

“You really are blind. Huh.” 

“Oui!” 

“Lucky you.” Pyro released him. 

Spy retreated into the hallway and retraced his steps. He had missed two doors on his way from Medic’s office. After doing a recount, he grasped the nameplate. It was shorter than the first. His hands shook. 

“There it is,” Pyro said. “Better mark it for next time, huh?” 

Spy shut the door behind him and breathed in all the familiar scents of his room. Small comfort, but enough to steady his pulse.


	3. Chapter 3

Time lost its meaning. Spy waited in his room for Engineer to announce his success, but hours slipped by without interruption. He memorized the layout of his room and focused on recognizing noises. When the sheer weight of darkness threatened to overwhelm him, he tried to sense more movement in his vision. Mostly, he slept. It was only the cycles of his body that marked the passage of time. After mapping the room, sleeping, remapping, and sleeping again, hunger and thirst became hard to ignore. His stubble rasped uncomfortably against his mask. 

When Spy slipped out of his room, it was quiet. He took the nameplate half-way out of its slot to be easily identifiable, and slipped down the hallway. The air felt cooler than before and held the smell of that night’s beef stew. Spy’s belly rumbled. 

The kitchen was across the base. Spy inched his way along, hand on the wall. The quiet made it easier, but he still paused every few steps and listened. He could hear Medic snoring in his office down the next hall. A door opened nearby. Footsteps clomped towards him. Spy activated his cloak and held his breath. 

“Someone there?” Heavy asked. “Little Spy? Is that you?” 

“Oui.” Spy sighed and let the cloak fall. “Is there any food left?” 

Heavy stepped close, smelling of fresh aftershave. “Yes, I saved some. Follow me.” He walked down the hall humming a tune. 

Spy followed his voice, though Heavy quickly outpaced him. The smell of beef stew grew stronger. When he stepped inside the kitchen, he heard the stovetop clicking, pots and pans being clanged together, and running water. His fingers brushed against the top of a chair, and he was able to sit at the table without fuss. A plate, utensils, and cup of water had been set out for him. 

“You did this?” 

“Yes.” 

“Why?” 

The noise stopped. 

“You must eat,” Heavy replied. 

Spy mapped the plate and cutlery with his fingertips. They had been set down with obvious care. He took a drink and carefully set the glass down on the table. 

“You seem well-acquainted with this.” 

There was no immediate reply, only the scrape of a wooden spoon against the bottom of a pot. The stew bubbled and gave off a thick, pleasant smell. 

“Brother was like you. Born with....” Heavy paused. “Cloudy eyes.” 

“Cataracts,” Spy said. 

“Yes.” 

“I’m not an invalid, ‘eavy. I can do all of these things for myself.” 

“Mm, but is easier when not baby.” 

Spy scowled. “I’m not a child.” 

“Little Spy must learn everything again--like baby.” Heavy chuckled deep in his chest. “Vek zhivi--vek uchis’.” 

Live for a century--learn for a century. 

Neither one spoke for while after that. Spy listened to Heavy’s plodding footsteps, to the scrape of the pot’s metal bottom as it was pulled off of the stovetop, and the stew’s fragrant burbling. Heavy’s even breathing and body heat drew closer, followed by the clack of a wooden spoon hitting Spy’s plate. The smell and heat bloomed under his nose. 

“Now eat.” Heavy set the pot down and sat in a chair nearby. The distinctive crinkle of a newspaper soon followed. “Doctor has theory. See him tomorrow after battle?” 

Spy froze. “‘as there been progress?” 

“Is possible.” 

He fumbled for the knife and fork, and guided them towards the plate. To his surprise, they sank into something soft. He frowned and tapped the edges with his fork. It was round with a skin. A potato? He cut through it and had a taste. 

A poorly boiled potato, but the stew was good and he was hungry. 

Spy ate slowly. After the first attempt nearly ended up on his chin, he bent his head to avoid spilling each forkful. Every few minutes, the crinkle of paper came from Heavy’s side of the room. It paced time and provided a membrane of privacy between them. Spy ate until all of the stew sat in his stomach like wet cement. 

“Good.” Heavy took the plate to the sink. “Go rest now.” 

Spy stood up, hands clamped on the table’s edge, then the chair’s back, and then the wall. He heard the faucet run, followed by the tell-tale whump and thud of dishes in a full sink. 

“Spasibo,” he said. 

All movement stopped. “Ne za shto.” 

There was no guile in Heavy’s voice. No derision. No pity. Spy used the wall to steady himself and hurried out of the kitchen before he said anything else.


	4. Chapter 4

The battle took on a whole other dimension while Spy was trapped inside his own room. He sat on his bed in the same clothes as yesterday, loathing his own grunginess, and listening to the shouting outside. The muffled rattle of Engineer’s sentries sounded closest. An occasional explosion rumbled through the floor. 

Yesterday, he had given little thought to how much time he spent on the battlefield. Now it was torture. He had no way of measuring time besides the increasingly persistent pressure in his bladder. Even a shower was out of the question. REDs actively sought to enter BLU’s base by whatever means possible. It was rare but not unheard of for them to walk by the showers or bedrooms. 

Spy could imagine what they’d do if they found him stumbling in the hallway. So he waited in his room like a grounded child. 

The Alarm-o-Tron blared constantly. RED Soldier in the base. RED Pyro in the base. RED Medic in the base. More explosions. RED Spy in the base. Their intelligence--gone. 

Spy paced. His team was losing, in part because he wasn’t there. 

He lit a cigarette and groped for an ashtray. His fingertips brushed against it as rapid, clacking footsteps came within hearing distance. He froze, but the ashtray fell onto the floor. The footsteps stopped. 

Spy cloaked and listened. There was a distinct click. His revolver made the same noise when he thumbed the hammer back. Shoes scuffed against the tiled floor. Closer. Right outside the door. He held his breath. None of their rooms had locks. 

The door thunked quietly against its frame. Someone leaned against it. He could hear the doorknob’s quiet clicking. Cold air flooded the room. His forehead tingled. Shoes clacked on his bedroom floor. Six feet away. Four. Three. He heard breathing, rustling cloth, and the tap of his glass ashtray on his desk. The smell of cigarette smoke was all pervasive. 

“Are you ‘iding from me?” RED Spy asked. “That’s not like you.” 

Something moved. Spy reacted without thinking. 

He turned aside, fingers instinctively clamping around RED Spy’s wrist. The gunshot cracked sharply inside his room. He twisted the revolver away from his body with his other hand and wrenched it out of RED Spy’s grasp. His index finger popped. A sharp intake of breath. 

Spy stepped back, cocked the hammer, aimed at the sound, and fired. It recoiled hard. The sound boomed in the confines of his room. A warm splatter on his face and neck. A wet thump. Slow, gurgling breaths. 

Then the groaning started. 

“Merde,” he said and shut his eyes. 

RED Spy made ragged, huffing breaths. There was an odd sucking sound. The bullet had collapsed one of his lungs. 

Spy stepped forward and kneeled. Quick breaths chilled the blood already cooling on his face. RED Spy clutched his tie. 

“I know,” Spy said. 

The pull on his tie eased. 

He reached out to map the way his counterpart lay. His fingers brushed against the man’s shoulder, the unsteady heave of his chest. Spy sucked in a deep breath and moved both hands up to his counterpart’s face. Eyelids fluttered under his fingertips. 

He pulled the hammer back. It made no difference, but he closed his eyes and pulled the trigger. Another hot spray. An electronic whine pierced his ears. 

The gurgling stopped. 

Spy stood up and stumbled over the body into the hall. A rush of heat turned his legs to elastics. He pitched sideways and hit the wall. The chill of cement and air conditioning dried the sweat from his face, but the blood stuck. He gulped breaths of air and tried to ignore the metallic fish smell of RED Spy’s brain matter. 

More footsteps echoed down the hallway. Spy didn’t care. 

Someone rounded the corner and stopped. He heard the screech of their soles against the linoleum floor. 

“Holy shit,” Scout said. “Holy fucking shit.” 

“‘e came into my room.” 

Scout made a gagging sound. “You blew his brains all over the floor.” 

“‘e came into my room,” Spy repeated. “‘e shouldn’t ‘ave come into my room.” 

Scout exhaled harshly. There was a plastic click. “Take it easy, Captain America, I got your briefcase.” A pause. “Spy did it.” A longer pause. “Nah, I’ll bring it down. It’s a fucking mess up here.” 

Spy raised his head. “The intelligence?” 

“Yeah.” Scout’s cleats clicked on the floor, followed by the scrape of metal against linoleum. “Look, I gotta go....” 

“Go.” Spy waved him on. 

Scout tore down the hallway, footsteps as rapid as gunfire. 

It wasn’t safe to linger. Spy listened to the sounds of battle rumbling through the base, then pushed himself away from the wall. He needed to be clean and RED Spy would likely return to look for the intelligence--and for him. 

He walked with one hand on the wall. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. He kept expecting the crackle of a dead ringer. An explosion outside made the floor tremble. He pressed against the wall and listened. Nothing. The dried blood on his face made his skin feel tight. He kept walking. 

The locker room smelled of aftershave and chlorine. Spy rushed inside and shut the door. It was still humid from that morning. He breathed deeply and groped for the nearest stall. The tiles felt slick and pleasantly cool through his gloves. Pipes clunked and groaned when he turned the water on. 

It was cold. Freezing cold. Then lukewarm. Then scalding. 

Spy’s thousand dollar suit hung like a lead weight. He breathed in hot, thick air. The spray needled his forehead and streamed down the creases of his face. Blood peeled off of his mouth and chin like flecks of paint.


	5. Chapter 5

The door slammed open. Spy gave a start and turned towards the gust of cold air. He heard the clack of one shoe, then the other. Silence yawned in the empty space between his body and the door. He shut the shower off. The taps squealed. Water plipped onto the floor. His suit began to cool. 

“You truly are blind,” RED Spy said. “Well, now you’ve put me in an undesirable position.” 

Spy turned towards the rush of air and fought to keep his voice steady. “I don’t have the briefcase.” 

One clack. Another. Then a slow scuff. “Obviously.” The click of a lighter. “No, my friend. I’m talking about my death.” 

“It was messy. For that, I do apologize.” 

RED Spy chuffed. “You were always so fastidious, weren’t you? No, you did the best you could. For that, I can’t blame you.” He stepped closer. One slow clack after the other, then another scuff of his soles along the linoleum. “I’m talking about being the only mercenary killed by a blind man.” 

“There will be others,” Spy said. His clothes were soaked and cold, and he started shivering. “I won’t be blind forever.” 

“Ah, but the damage is done. A mercenary must trade upon his reputation, no?” A distinct click. “You’ve dealt mine a terrible blow today.” 

Spy knew that sound. His forehead tingled in anticipation of a bullet. “So--you’re going to teach me a lesson?” 

RED Spy chuckled. “I’m afraid not. You would only respawn and I require a permanent solution.” 

“Permanent?” 

The gunshot sounded even louder in the shower room. Spy doubled over. It felt like he’d been punched in the gut. There was no pain. Only numbness. His knees buckled and he fell onto his side. Water splashed across his face. He felt hot. Tired. 

“I apologize, truly.” Fingers wormed under Spy’s jacket. The weight of his knife and revolver slid away. “No one would ‘ire a me if they knew I was bested by a blind man. You understand.” 

Arms pushed under his back and legs. He was lifted. There was pain, then. There was pain until there was little else. 

RED Spy maintained a jarring pace. See-sawing. The click-clack of shoes on linoleum. The base’s alarm. Fading gunfire. Shouting. Squealing hinges. Heat on his face. Wind dragging grit across his wet skin. Jingling chain-link fence. 

The earth slammed into Spy’s back. He heard an animal scream. 

“Shhh, quiet now.” RED Spy’s voice retreated several steps. Another distinctive click. “I wouldn’t usually waste another bullet, but--this one will be well spent.” 

Movement. Cloth rasped against cloth. RED Spy was taking aim. 

The seconds slipped past. Kept slipping past. 

“You’re smiling at me,” RED Spy said. “What could you possibly be so smug about?” 

Spy’s lips felt like rubber. “I knew you wouldn’t.” He sucked in a rattling a breath. “Couldn’t kill me like a man.” 

RED Spy laughed. It sounded brittle. 

“We both know if RED’s first choice ‘adn’t been taken,” Spy said, “you’d still be sucking cock for intel in Berlin.” 

An indrawn breath. Footsteps pounded towards Spy. The revolver thumped softly in the sand. He shut his eyes and braced himself. RED Spy’s knee dug into his sternum. The pain before was a faint ache in comparison. Spy felt his mouth stretch, but could hear nothing but a high-pitched hum. He raised his hand before registering movement, and RED Spy’s fist smashed into his forearm instead of his temple. Fingers dug into the soft flesh under his neck. 

Spy’s arms felt heavy and elastic. His pulse began to thud in his ears. The pain kept him conscious. He grasped RED Spy’s wrist and bicep, and felt surprise run through his counterpart’s body. He anchored his own leg over RED Spy’s, and then pushed his pelvis up at an angle. The hands on his throat fell away as Spy used the momentum to roll over and switch their positions. It felt like a hook had been ripped through his solar plexus. Didn’t matter. He punched. Once, twice--three times. His knuckle broke. RED Spy’s body went slack underneath him. 

He teetered onto his side and closed his eyes. The sun felt warm, but distant. Numbness spread from his core. He was tired. 

RED Spy stirred beside him. He felt the sand shift, heard a gurgled curse. A hand dug into his shoulder and rolled him onto his back. Scuffling through sand. He heard RED Spy’s uneven footsteps recede, then the faint sigh of his cloak. 

“Yes! Run, coward!” Heavy’s voice softened. “Little Spy is alive?” 

A hand cupped the back of his head. He smelled sweat and aftershave. It was enough to break the cool pull of sleep. 

Spy opened his eyes. “Oui,” he whispered. “‘ow did you find me?” 

“I go to showers and see blood. Not hard to follow trail.” 

“Oh.” His eyes felt heavy. “You should go back. I’ll be fine. I just need to rest.” 

Heavy hooked his arm under Spy’s knees and lifted him up. “Battle is over. You come rest inside.”


	6. Chapter 6

The warm lassitude of the Medi gun faded. Spy wasn’t accustomed to resisting its effects and sagged forward. Heavy laid a hand on his shoulder. His palm was broad but gentle, and radiated warmth.

“Feeling better?” Medic asked.

Spy sat up straight and nodded. Heavy’s hand fell away. “I am, thank you.” He took a deep breath. “I was told you might ‘ave some news.”

Medic hesitated. “Now?”

There was a clank from the far end of the room. Engineer cleared his throat. “I, uh, need to go get some coffee anyway.”

“It’s alright.” Spy rubbed his face. Stubble rasped against his gloves. “Just tell me.”

Medic sighed. “So be it.” There was a wubble and click. “There is significant remodeling in your occipital bone. The back of your skull, here.” Medic leaned in and tapped the back of Spy’s head. “Vhere your visual cortex is located.” 

Spy frowned. “‘ow is that even possible?”

“I don’t know,” Medic replied, “but the location of this fracture and your blindness can’t be a coincidence.”

“It ain’t.” Engineer heavy boots clopped across the floor. “One of the cameras caught your last death.”

“A sticky bomb,” Spy said, “just outside the supply room.”

“The respawn system sits right under the supply room. There’s a lot of wiring down there,” Engineer said. “Lot of ways things can go wrong.”

Dread settled in Spy’s chest like cement. “What?”

Engineer sighed heavily. “Respawn system has more redundancies then I got fingers and toes.” There was a rasp of nails on stubble. “But from what I can tell, the maintenance crews didn’t exercise the goddamn breakers. Switch didn’t flip and the backup never kicked in. Then you came along. Last respawn of the day.”

“Why didn’t I come back as I was?”

“Slim, you’re lucky you came back at all. If it hadn’t been for the data buffer, your corpse would be feeding vultures right now.”

Heavy made a rumbling sound. Engineer sighed again.

“There’s an emergency template made for this sort of thing, but it ain’t been tested like this.” Another rasp of stubble. “You were dead for six minutes before respawn kicked in. I don’t know if I can get your uncorrupted template back.”

Spy closed his eyes. “This is permanent.”

“Could be,” Engineer admitted. “I’d love to poke around the respawn system myself, but I ain’t got that kind of access. I’d be violating the terms of my contract and you know what happens to people who stray. Just look at that Director fella.”

After an awkward pause, he added, “What about talking to HQ?”

Spy sat back and sighed. “We can’t let RED to ‘ave a one-man advantage.” 

“Aw hell, Slim. I didn’t mean it like that.”

He shrugged. “I know.”

“Let’s not make any assumptions, Herr Spy. The company could have the means to restore your sight.” There was another click and wubble. “And I’m not keen to fight the REDs vith a malfunctioning respawn system.”

“Is dangerous,” Heavy said, “asking people for favors.”

Medic tsked. “And vhat vould you do?”

“Only tell them what they need to know. Make sure they take care of problem our way. If they can be trusted, well.” Heavy patted Spy’s shoulder. “Then we talk secrets, yes?”

Spy sagged forward. “So long as the respawn system keeps working.”

“I’ll keep an eye on it, Slim. Don’t worry.”

“Then ve have nothing further to discuss,” Medic said. “And until ve have more information, I suggest keeping this to ourselves.”

“Everybody’s already talking about it, Doc.”

“Let them. Ve don’t need to confirm their fears.”

Spy took a deep breath and pushed himself off the table. He felt Heavy’s body heat on his skin as he headed towards the door. “Thank you, gentlemen. Now if you’ll excuse me, my room is in need of cleaning.”

He reached out and ran his fingers along the wall. It was smooth and uninterrupted. The door wasn’t anywhere near him. The silence behind him was absolutely deafening. Heat rushed to his face. 

“Scout is taking care of mess.” The swivel chair rattled as Heavy stood up and put an arm around Spy’s shoulders. “You need shave, yes? We get you shave.”

Heavy steered him several feet to the left and opened the door. Spy followed without speaking. The hallway was cooler in comparison to Medic’s office, but the open space made the back of his neck tingle. He pulled away and placed his palm against the wall. It felt cool even through his gloves.

“Come, if you still want shave.” Heavy’s voice was close, but not intrusive. “You will feel better.”

Spy closed his eyes and covered his mouth. When the tremors in his throat had passed, he nodded.

“Good.” Heavy headed in the opposite direction and began to hum a tune. Spy turned and followed, sliding his hand against the wall. He felt its bumps and grooves, felt his glove catch at chips in the paint, and blinked rapidly.

He smelled disinfectant and shampoo before Heavy stopped. There was a lingering humidity in the air. Someone had showered within the last half hour. The knot in his belly eased. At least he had been spared cleaning up his own blood.

“You sit here. I get everything ready.” Heavy’s palm slapped something wooden.

Spy pushed himself away from the wall and reached out towards the direction of the sound. His hand grazed Heavy’s shoulder as his foot hit the leg of a stool. He bowed his head and sat down.

“Good.” There was the swish and rattle of a shower curtain as Heavy left.

The air was more humid and closed in. Spy reached out and felt tiled walls on either side of him. He was in one of the corner showers. There were only two in the room and they were always claimed by Sniper and Pyro. 

Heavy’s footsteps echoed outside. Even so, Spy flinched when the curtain was pulled aside and an influx of cool air flooded the stall. He half expected the distinct click of RED Spy’s revolver.

“You are alright?”

“Oui.”

Something wooden was dragged along the floor. Another stool. Heavy sat down and closed the curtain. “Is safe now.”

Spy tugged at the bottom of his mask, hesitated, and then laughed. “I ‘aven’t shown my face to another ‘uman being in two years.” He laughed again. “Isn’t that crazy?”

Heavy went still. “Not so much.”

“No?” Spy sounded short of breath. “Mon Dieu, what kind of life are you leading?”

“I have good job,” Heavy said gently, “and good team.”

“A good team.” Spy buried his head in his hands and laughed. “You ‘ave to play nanny for a grown man….” A tremor ran through his body. “Who can’t shave his own face.” 

Heavy simply put a hand on his shoulder. “You will learn.”


End file.
